


With Open Eyes

by madame_meretrix (laisserais)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-24
Updated: 2011-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/madame_meretrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Description</b>: Jeff just sees what others miss.</p><blockquote>
  <p><br/><b>Note</b>: This was written to answer a prompt from <span><a href="http://thatotherperv.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://thatotherperv.livejournal.com/"><b>thatotherperv</b></a></span> in numerous rounds of various kink memes. BB, dunno if I did it exactly how you wanted, but I tried to get close. smish. <b>The Prompt</b>: anyone that's seen an interview with JDM might suspect that in reality, he's probably not a toppy bastard. he's a dork, and seems kinda insecure, which is totally endearing, looking like he does. I really want to see that played out in fic. I want confident, toppy Jensen seducing Jeff. and if Jeff's never been with a guy--or told himself that was just a teenage phase, or whatever--I'll love you forever.</p>
</blockquote>Beta by the amazing lovely_lady_j
            </blockquote>





	With Open Eyes

  


* * *

  


  
**With Open Eyes**   


Jeff’s backyard is a series of terraces overlooking Topanga Canyon. Smooth, even ground that descends gradually, until the gently-tamed foliage reveals a stream. The stream itself is a surprise. Standing on the deck, it’s invisible, the only hint of its presence a whisper of sound as the water rushes over rocks far below.

The terraces contain a motley assortment of native plants; Jeff had had it done professionally, and to the untrained eye it looks like barely controlled chaos, spilling down the hill.

When the sun goes down, the canyon glows red, bare autumn hills striped with shadow. Making his way down to the bottom of Jeff’s yard in the dark is something Jensen has never done before. He’s following Bisou, to whom the alien terrain is as mundane as the topography of Jeff’s hand.

He’d followed her down, slightly drunk. It's been a long afternoon of beer and song. The rest of them are still inside, debating fantasy football leagues, fiddling with guitars or maybe passing a joint. Jensen had been the only one to notice Bisou whining by the door, and after he’d opened it, he’d followed her out. It’s unseasonably cold, and Jensen’s standing there, looking down at the stream which had been a surprise, in nothing but a t-shirt. He shivers. Bisou raises her head just before Jensen hears Jeff’s voice cutting through the gloam.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Be right up.”

Now that he’s listening, he hears the glide of the door as Jeff opens it wider. “Cold out here.” He’s talking in a normal voice, but the air is so thin that it carries, even over the music of the stream.

“Yup,” says Jensen. He hikes his way back up the deceptively unmanicured hill with Bisou at his heels. She beats him to the top and stands next to Jeff, both of them watching his approach. It’s been a long day, almost time to go.

Jeff’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, jeans too baggy and dragging on the deck. Jensen's continually surprised by Jeff's physicality. Taken as a whole he has an air of gravitas which implies a solid man, one who would move slowly and with purpose. But the way he's standing now gives the lie to that impression; Jeff's not so much an authority figure as an overgrown kid, hiding his insecurities behind an illusion. In moments like this, unguarded and too brief, Jensen thinks he can see through the mask.

His wrists, where they peek out of his pockets, are equally thick with jewelry; more than once Jensen’s considered that it’s Jeff’s way of siGnaling a preference. It looks like socially acceptable bondage gear. He’s never asked about it.

Jeff’s looking at him with fondness, like maybe how he’d look if Jensen were one of his dogs. Jensen’s returning the look without much thought. With Jeff, it’s automatic. “Waiting for me?” he asks, cresting the last rise and stepping up on the deck.

Shrugging, Jeff says, “Cold air helps clear the head.”

“Right.” Jeff might host these get-togethers, might enable others to new heights of hedonism, but Jeff himself is fairly abstemious. Much like his backyard, Jeff appears to be laid back, ramshackly and all natural, but Jensen knows better. Jensen knows that Jeff is, in reality, far more organized than anyone gives him credit for. Ninety-nine percent of the time, he looks like he’s just rolled out of bed, but his persona is all part of the mask; just as carefully crafted as his house. Everything he does is intentional.

Which begs the question: why is Jeff out here on the deck, bare toes curling into the wood and so cold his breath is fogging, smiling fondly at Jensen as Jensen smiles fondly back?

Jeff slides the door open for Bisou and Jensen follows when Jeff makes an ushering motion. The living room is emptier than Jensen had left it, but Chris is still there, humming softly to himself. One or two other lingerers; the solid core of regulars dissolved into the sunset, other plans lower down the hill or Hollywood parties beckoning. It's all winding down and Jensen's winding down, too. When Jeff offers him another beer, he takes it more as a prop than from actual desire.

Jeff nudges him over on the sofa and they sit in parallel, Jeff folding himself up to tuck in, arms and legs crossed in a pile at the knee. Jensen imagines again a gangly boyhood Jeff's never outgrown and it makes him want give Jeff a hug. Their thighs occasionally touching, that side of his body heats up unevenly. Jensen takes a swig of beer.

It's another thing about Jeff: he does these things that come off like he's a caretaker—making sure his guests have enough beer, wandering out to find Jensen in the cold, calling a cab for those too drunk to get home—but Jensen doesn't think the impulse springs from any sort of need to provide or protect. It's just Jeff's way of being a friend. He just sees what others miss.

And Jensen's seen plenty of people be confused about that. He's watched plenty of women snag his attention and then, when they act like little girls looking for a spanking, watched Jeff switch off. The girls leave, disappointed. And Jeff tries again. It's kind of painful to witness. He wonders if he should mention it, but then, like everything else about Jeff, he never does.

Kane's standing in front of them now, guitar in its case. He offers a hand to haul Jensen off the couch, accompanied by, "Takin' off, kid. You comin'?"

And Jensen's about to. It's been a lazy afternoon; he's got obligations at home. He should go. But he looks over at Jeff and there's a ghost of something. Like maybe he doesn't want Jensen to leave. Jensen raises an eyebrow, a question, and Jeff shrugs half a shoulder: a silent invitation.

Jensen turns back to Chris and says, "Nah, man, I'm good."

"Suit yourself," says Chris, and then he's gone and so is everyone else. It's just he and Jeff.

Offering to help clean up, Jensen stands, needing to put distance between them. He doesn't know what's different about tonight, but something has shifted. It's like he's been calling for years, no one ever picking up, and he's gotten so used to hearing it ring that the silence of the answer is stunning.

Or something. Whatever, there's a receptivity in Jeff's look as they stuff pizza boxes into the recycling bin. Maybe. Jensen's doubting himself because what would make Jeff notice him now? And if he makes a move and it bombs, there goes years of friendship.

But they work in tandem, moving around the kitchen, shutting it down and it's like a well-worn routine, Jensen reaching out and Jeff handing him what he needs, no words necessary.

It's plain that Jeff appreciates his company, just as plain that he's a middle-aged heterosexual male for whom girls line up to hand over their panties. And Jensen isn't a good enough liar to say that his agenda is any different.

But where they've all failed, Jensen reckons he might hold the key.

They're back in the living room, Jensen in the armchair that faces the fire and Jeff lying on the couch, one leg up.

They’ve switched to whiskey now that the sun's gone. It's the longest they've ever hung out without a reason. He gets up, walks over to the fireplace, where Jeff's recently hung a massive wooden cross. “Never pegged you for actually being religious,” he says, running fingertips along the grain.

Jeff grunts, whiskey burn. “Not, particularly.” He shrugs. “It’s an iconography thing, you know? The symbol of the symbol.”

“Hn,” Jensen says. He takes a sip of his drink. Pieces are slotting together; overcompensation is only one of them. He traces a groove in the wood with a fingernail, Jeff silent behind him, and it's becoming clear, what Jeff can't ask for, but the reason why he let Jensen stay.

It's not a matter of Jeff not wanting him, he figures, so much as it's Jeff's complete inability to verbalize it.

A log shifts in the fireplace, sends up sparks; Jensen makes a decision.

Setting his glass on the mantel, he turns back to the couch where Jeff's been waiting for him. He bypasses subtlety and plants himself between Jeff's knees. He reaches out to rest the tips of his fingers on Jeff's cheek. He says, "I'd like to kiss you. Will you let me?"

The fact that he could have predicted Jeff's silence only makes it sweeter. He's staring at Jensen, at his mouth, like prey watches a predator. Jensen can almost feel his own fangs.

He takes Jeff's silence as a yes and leans in until he's pressing his lips to Jeff's. Hand cupping his cheek. Jeff does nothing for a moment and Jensen is insistent, opening up to lick at Jeff's bottom lip, a small noise when he shifts and then a bite, gentle but commanding. Jeff parts his lips and then Jensen stops holding himself up; he doesn't break the kiss and neither does Jeff.

In fact, Jeff brings his leg off the floor and shifts to make room for Jensen and Jensen spares a moment to revel in the feeling of having been right. But Jeff's fevered tongue will admit no distractions. Once he starts, he's insatiable, letting him in, yes, letting him nip at his neck, his ear. All the while Jeff's clutching at Jensen's back.

Jensen disentangles himself, gets his hands around Jeff's wrists and guides them over Jeff's head. Beads dig into his palms, a shared discomfort. Jeff's got his eyes closed, like maybe it's not happening if he can't see it. That just won't do.

"Open your eyes, Jeff. Look at me."

And he does, more vulnerable than Jensen's ever seen him. In reward Jensen leans in, letting go of Jeff's hands and places a kiss at his neck, Sunday afternoon scruff scraping him up. A memento for later, when Jensen will doubt if this has actually happened.

Another kiss and then a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, the corner of his lips. Jeff doesn't move, but Jensen can feel the deep inhalation as Jensen kisses him again, open-mouthed and wet, and the bulge in his jeans says everything that Jeff can't. Jeff's body reacts like a well-known lover's, opening up and Jensen gets bolder, slipping a hand down to Jeff's dick, resting it with no pressure, half scared of the reaction.

He's pleased and relieved and turned on all the more when Jeff sighs, a little smirk as he watches Jensen through hooded eyes. His arms wrap tighter around the arm of the couch and Jensen watches the play of muscle under well-inked skin. Surprised all over again at the disconnect between what he expects and what he gets. When he kisses Jeff this time, Jeff kisses back, less hesitation. He palms Jeff's cock, heavy and hard, and takes a moment to rest his head on Jeff's chest; listening to Jeff's heart as it quickens, he breathes in slow, warm and spicy scent of Jeff the same as always but meaning something new now as he slips down further, a press of teeth to Jeff's belly and then no more sentimentality as he unzips Jeff's jeans and takes his cock firmly in hand.

"Jesus," says Jeff, first contribution of the evening.

"You like that?" Jensen ducks his head, licks the slit.

"Fuck--" A cut-off grunt as Jensen takes him all the way down his throat, a hiss when he swallows. Jeff's a gentleman though, like Jensen knew he would be; he feels how badly Jeff wants to fuck his mouth in the straining tremble of the muscles under his hands. He's reminded of earlier, and how in a way this is Jeff at his purest: the tense core underneath the slack; following where Jensen leads and making the impossible seem inevitable. Jensen deep throats him again, wanting to pull him tighter, watch him snap.

Jensen's got Jeff under his hands, muscles bunching, hair wiry and rough under his fingers, a beautiful contradiction unlocking. The feeling of Jeff's cock on his tongue enough to make Jensen come. He rolls Jeff's balls in his hand, the confines of their clothing equal parts frustrating and hot. Jeff still clothed except for his dick, which is in Jensen's mouth and Jensen nearly bent in half, working Jeff's cock slick and tight, choking a little when he goes too far. The idea of it and the fact that Jeff hasn't moved from where Jensen put him combine into something almost too big to feel. Jensen's on the edge of coming, yeah, but he's also on the verge of doing something stupid, like saying 'I love you.'

Another pop as a wet log catches fire, the knock of ice against ice as Jeff's drink settles, it's silent like Jeff's afraid to breathe and Jensen notices the lack. Looking up in the urgent need for Jeff to feel this like he is, Jensen's startled by what he sees: Jeff blissed out, gripping the arm of the couch in a deathlock. Debauched as fuck and totally into it staring at Jensen like he knows exactly who's blowing him and he doesn't want it to stop.

"Fuck," says Jensen. He crushes his mouth to Jeff's, frantic need to own every piece, every breath. He threads fingers into Jeff's hair, guiding him, attacking, needing a battle.

Inside Jeff is a rich vein of untapped submission, just as unguessed but just as welcome as a hidden stream; its presence informing what can be seen on the surface. Jensen feels it when that door unlocks, can see it when Jeff swings open for him. It stirs the darker impulses; for a moment Jensen hates everyone else who's ever seen him like this. Hates them with the kind of bloody mindedness that leads to crimes of passion. In this moment Jensen thinks maybe something inside himself has unlocked, too.

He's a little out of control, maybe, as he tugs Jeff's shirt off, as he spreads his fingers wide, as he traces Jeff's ribcage. He feels a little like a predator, maybe, which is why he's not surprised when Jeff says, "Jen." And cups his face in both hands.

"Hey," Jeff says, and Jensen falls still. "What are we doing?"

Jensen leans in Again, rubs his cheek against Jeff's and whispers, "Fooling around. Is it so bad that you can't tell?"

The rumble of Jeff's laugh echoes in Jensen's chest. "Yeah, no, I got that. But…" Jeff's hips hitch up as Jensen bites his neck. "Oh Jesus your mouth. I mean—" Jensen rides it out when Jeff bucks again. They have way too many clothes on still. "What are we doing?"

With a silent sigh, Jensen sits up, straddling Jeff's lap. "Making out?" To emphasize his point, Jensen rolls his hips and Jeff groans, grabbing his thighs and squeezing. Jeff's hands are huge and sexy as hell. Jensen unbuckles his jeans, asking, "Will you fuck me?"

Into the silence, Jensen pours every ounce of his persuasion: he parts his lips, pulls slowly on his zipper while cupping his dick.

Jeff's fingers flex where they're resting on Jensen's thighs. Jensen tilts his head, looks Jeff in the eye. Has no idea if it's working, but has to try. He's wanted Jeff for so long and he's so close.

"I don't know if—" Jeff breaks off, looks away; Jensen's heart starts to break. After a blood-chilling pause: "I've never done that before."

It's a life-saving swerve on a dark road. Jensen's confidence comes roaring back. "I'll show you," he says, standing up and taking Jeff's hand. He walks backward down the hall, keeping tight hold. Like a trainer with a shy colt, Jensen leads him to the bedroom. He's going to break Jeff to the saddle and Jeff is going to enjoy every minute of it.

*

Naked finally in the hushed brown light of Jeff's room, Jensen spreads out under Jeff's mouth. More enthusiastic than adept, Jeff's first blowjob is nonetheless a treasure Jensen gets to keep all to himself.

"Fuck yeah, like that...just like that, Jesus." He threads fingers into Jeff's hair, angles him to take more. Heels catching purchase on the sheets, fucking Jeff's mouth, scruff warm and itchy against the inside of his thighs, Jensen's getting off on watching Jeff take it and how it feels when Jeff's hands press into his skin. "Oh fuck, Jeff, gonna come if you don't stop."

Jeff doubles down, wraps a hand around the base of Jensen's dick and jacks him off while he sucks the head deeper. He's humping the bed a little, Jensen notices and it all hits him in a rush: Jeff likes having a dick in his mouth; he likes sucking _Jensen's_ dick specifically. "Shit," he says. "Please, wanna--" Jensen shoves at his shoulder. "God, wanna wait. Wanna come on your dick."

Jeff pulls off just in time. Jensen tugs at his balls.

"Are you sure?" Jeff's rubbing his chin against Jensen's hip and it tickles. The sensation helps pull him back from the edge. Still, he's gotta think for a second before understands what Jeff means.

"Definitely. Are you?"

"Actually, no." Jeff rolls off to the side. His cock seems to know what it wants, Jensen thinks as he watches it bob in the air.

But instead of that he says, "Okay." Irresistable force meeting an immovable object. He feels a little sick from the whiplash. "We don't have to." He sits up.

"No, I mean..." Jeff sits up, too, but at the foot of the bed. Jensen's suddenly cold and he pulls the covers up to his waist. "I do want...you know." He gestures at the bed as if that clarifies things. "I just. This is kind of happening fast and I don't. What are we doing?"

Jeff looks at him, and if Jensen thought he looked vulnerable before, he's blown wide open now. He keeps asking the same question, and Jensen still doesn't have an answer.

Seeing as how he's already naked and, you know, just had his dick in Jeff's mouth, Jensen figures there's no risk in honesty. "I like you. Like, a lot. You probably figured that out already. I want to fuck you. If you're asking if we're messing up our friendship or if this means something more than just messing around, the answer is I don't know. I might wake up tomorrow and regret this. Hell, for all I know you're already regretting it."

"I'm not," he says, quiet but convinced.

A deep breath, and then: "Good." Jensen leans back against the headboard, goes for broke. "I'm probably not going to either. And honestly? Pretty sure I'm gonna wanna do it again. Does that freak you out?"

Jeff's rumbling laugh, while sexy, nevertheless leaves Jensen hanging until he clears his throat and says, "Sleeping with you doesn't freak me out." And when he looks up and grins, it's that heartstopping look Jensen's seen him throw to countless women. It's even more breathtaking when he's the direct recipient. "I mean, not like I haven't thought about it before."

"Oh Christ," Just the _thought--_ Jensen grits his teeth, sheets twisting in his hands.

"You alright?"

When he can speak, Jensen says, "Fine. Just trying not to come."

When Jeff laughs again, it doesn't help Jensen's resistance.

"But I don't know, you know? I mean, I didn't exactly wake up this morning thinking I'd be getting initiated into the mysteries of anal sex."

And that's...well, that's fair actually. "Yeah," Jensen says. "I guess that's like, kind of a big gay sign, huh?"

"A blinking neon rainbow sign."

Jensen laughs. "Does it make you less gay if you're not the one on the receiving end?"

"I don't know," says Jeff. "Didn’t you read your handbook?"

"They only issue one when you first come out and I lost mine." Jeff's picking at the comforter and grinning. It's better than running for the hills. "But you know what? Lots of people never get fucked in the ass, and they're still gay." Jeff's grin starts to fade and Jensen backtracks. "And conversely, plenty of straight guys get pegged by their girlfriends every night and never sweat it. It's, you know, not like you have to play with a butt to earn your merit badge or anything. If you want, we can do other stuff."

"Yeah," says Jeff. He stretches, yawns, and then, "wanna play Guitar Hero?"

"Okay now you're just fucking with me." Jensen throws a pillow at Jeff's head. Jeff catches it, laughing. Jensen scoots down the bed and tackles him, wrestling for the pillow. Jeff's still laughing, but he's not gonna give the pillow up without a fight and he rolls them over until Jensen's pinned underneath him. Jensen's acutely aware of the position and how heavily he's breathing when Jeff stops, propped up on his elbows, dick hard again or maybe still hard, nudging against his balls.

They stare at each other for a heartbeat, and then Jensen's pulling Jeff down into a kiss, spreading his legs wider.

"I guess it's a little late to ask this but," Jeff smirks at him. "Will you still respect me in the morning?"

"Who says I respect you now?"

"Right," Jeff says, flashing dimples.

"Come here," Jensen says, and draws Jeff into another kiss. He wraps a hand around the back of Jeff's neck, the other trailing down his spine and Jeff hums into his mouth. He draws slow ovals along Jeff's calf with a heel and then a toe, feeling the goosebumps rise on Jeff's skin. They make out like that for a long time, Jeff almost chaste, keeping his hands on the bed. More than anything, Jensen wants Jeff to touch him, wants him to _want_ to touch him, but this is good, too. It's probably weird for him, Jensen figures, to be naked with a man. He remembers his first time and how even though he wanted it, there was still a sensation of...weirdness to it all. Flat, hard planes where there used to be softness. Equal strength where there used to be yielding.

Drawing back, Jeff says, "Does it feel good?"

Jensen curls his fingers into the dip in Jeff's spine. "What?"

"GeTting fucked in the ass."

Quirking his head, Jensen says, "You never— Not even a finger?"

Jeff looks away, bashful. He shakes his head in the negative.

"Well," says Jensen. "Yeah. For some people. Me included." Jeff blinks at him, and Jensen realizes that Jeff's voiced disinclination is due less to repugnance than to nerves. He smiles. For all of his need to appear to be in control, Jeff at heart is shy.

Jensen rolls them over so that Jeff is on his back and he works his way down to Jeff's dick, taking it into his mouth. As he sucks, he kneads his fingers into the muscles of Jeff's thighs, feeling him relax. Jensen switches it up, deep throating and then pulling off to lick the head. Jeff's groaning, carding his hand through Jensen's hair and it makes him shiver. He works down to suck at Jeff's balls, first one and then the other, willing Jeff to let go of control. He keeps jacking Jeff off as he bites at the tender skin of his thigh and then traces his tongue around Jeff's asshole. "Fuck," says Jeff. "Jen, what--"

"Sh, let me." Jensen goes back to it, tracing the skin behind Jeff's balls with his tongue, keeping it rigid as he flicks at the tight opening and then soft swipes, all the while never slowing his hand on Jeff's dick. Jeff's startled noises change pitch, get louder. He starts rocking up into Jensen's hand, and Jensen has to brace himself to keep from getting dislodged. Jeff opens up for him like Jensen knew he would, and lets him in. He alternates soft and slow with fast and hard, getting Jeff's hole slippery and wet until finally he slips inside, fucking Jeff open on his tongue and Jeff curses loudly. He's breathing heavy and Jensen can tell he's trying to hold still. Jensen's insistent, fucking Jeff, curling his tongue and flicking in and out, jacking his dick hard and tight and it's fucking hot, listening to Jeff unravel for him.

"Christ, Jen, Please."

"Please what?" He breathes hot and foggy, inhaling Jeff’s dark scent.

"Please," is all Jeff says.

"More?" He slows his hand, loosening his grip and Jeff moans, hitching his hips, looking for contact.

Jeff's shaking his head back and forth on the pillow. Jensen decides that means more and gets back to it, sliding the tip of his finger around the hole, tapping at Jeff's entrance, slipping it just barely inside along with his tongue, alternating both and Jeff's getting loud in his appreciation.

Abruptly Jensen pulls away. He says, "That's what it feels like. And we haven't even gotten to the prostate yet."

Jeff grabs his shoulder and pulls him up for a kiss. When Jensen tries to avoid it, Jeff insists. "I don't care. Come here."

This time when Jensen works his hand in between them, Jeff spreads his legs. Jensen smirks into the kiss; Jeff bites his bottom lip when Jensen pushes gently at his hole. Jeff grabs Jensen's ass, hauling him up and over Jeff's lap so that he's straddling him again. It's like he's broken down some barrier, the lingering hesitancy evaporated.

"God, will you _please_ fuck me now?" he says.

Jeff runs a finger down Jensen's crack and Jensen shivers, pushing back into the hand. Slowly, so fucking slowly, Jeff circles his hole. Jensen closes his eyes, holds his breath.

"Yeah, okay," Jeff says. "But. Will you show me how?"

"Absolutely. You got stuff?"

"Dresser, top drawer."

Jensen goes to get it--and spares a moment to wonder why Jeff keeps lube and condoms in his sock drawer--and turns around to see Jeff sprawled out, one leg cocked, lazily stroking his dick and staring at his ass. It's a pleasing sight, and, he hopes, an auspicious start. "See something you like?" he says, even though it's cheesy. He really needs to hear Jeff's answer.

"Mm. Get over here."

And Jensen goes, slinging a leg over Jeff's knees. "Hi."

"Hi."

"So," Jensen says, popping the cap off the lube. "I'm gonna take the lead here."

"I think that's wise."

Jensen gets a couple of fingers slicked and reaches back, grazes his hole and shudders. "You've thought about this, huh?" He braces his other hand on Jeff's chest. Jeff's hands flex on his hips.

"Huh?"

Moistening his lips, Jensen opens his eyes. He's pretty sure that Jeff isn't hearing a thing right now. He smirks. "Want to help?"

"Uh," says Jeff.

Jensen encircles one of Jeff's wrists, tugging. "Come on, wanna feel you inside me." Jensen guides Jeff's fingers, slicking them up. "Fuck...yeah, gently. Push a little--fuck. That feels so fuckin' good, you have no idea... Now move a little bit. Pull out and then in again." His instruction devolves into incoherent babble as Jeff gets the hang of it. Jeff's clutching his hip with his free hand, thumb digging into bone, but Jensen doesn't care because Jeff is fucking him with two fingers now.

He rides Jeff's hand, bends for a sloppy kiss and Jeff hits his prostate. "Fuck," he says, nearly losing his balance.

"You okay?" Jeff stops and Jensen almost keens.

"Yeah," he says, shaking. "Don't stop."

They set a rhythm then, Jensen caught between the sweet pleasure of Jeff's fingers and the torture of wanting more. Jeff's watching him and his reactions, searching his face. Jensen lets it all show. He's here, now. They both are and Jeff's seeing through him and it's so much. It's almost overwhelming. Jensen grabs the condom, tears it open with his teeth.

"You ready?" he asks, rolling it down to the base of Jeff's dick.

Hissing, Jeff says, "Are you?"

"Fuck yes." And then he's slicking Jeff's dick and sinking down.

"God... _damn_. So fucking-- tight." Jeff's got his head thrown back, stretch of neck left bare. Jensen runs his fingers along it, resting fingertips on his pulse.

A slow undulation, the barest movement. Jeff opens his eyes. Jensen sinks down again, and then again and Jeff tangles their hands together. They're connected, answering consciousness and a spiraling feedback loop of pleasure. When Jensen changes pace, Jeff follows and the room is quiet outside of the noises neither one is holding back. Leaning forward, Jensen puts his weight on Jeff's hands, picks up speed and Jeff accommodates him. It shouldn't be a surprise; Jeff's always done that and now Jensen doesn't have to wonder why. Jeff's only been waiting for him.

This time the kiss is gentle, initiated by Jeff, who says, "So fucking beautiful." And then kisses him again. When Jensen lets go of his hands, Jeff brings one up along his back, cradles his skull and deepens the kiss as he snaps his hips up, starts fucking him hard. Jeff wraps his other hand around Jensen's cock, jacking him off and it isn't perfect, the position is a little awkward, but Jensen's so close, and Jeff's growling and it's all he can do to hold on.

He tucks his head into Jeff's neck, says, "Oh fuck-- Jeff-- gonna--"

"Yeah, come on. Wanna feel you," he says.

And when he finally does come, it's like an afterimage of sound. He's boundless for a second, unhemmed in by the limits of his skin, and then slammed back into his body with a synesthetic punch; he's scrambled, drowning in his senses and he doesn't care. He's been waiting for days, maybe years, for this moment. The sound he makes, hoarse and contorted, is swallowed up by Jeff, who's right there with him, following him over the edge.

*  
Sheets in a puddle at his feet, Jensen’s staring at the ceiling while Jeff traces figure eights on his sternum.

“Thank you,” Jeff says.

Jensen lets gravity turn his head. “For what?”

Jeff grins. He rubs his palm over the invisible infinity symbol, as if wiping it away. When he ducks his head under Jensen’s armpit, his beard tickles. “Being patient with me.”

“Dude,” Jensen says, and then laughs. “For a beginner, you’re...pretty advanced.”

Jeff laughs, rubbing his beard across one of Jensen’s nipples. “Uh, I meant more about, you know, the whole crush thing in general. But that’s good to know, too.”

“Crush?” Jensen turns on his side, catches one of Jeff’s restless hands in his own.

“Yeah. Dunno why it took me so long to figure it out. But you knew. And you waited ‘til I was ready. So...thanks.”

Jensen blinks. Jeff’s giving him too much credit, and he’s still stuck on, “You have a crush on me?”

Jeff looks away, blushing. “That’s maybe not the right word. You know what I’m talking about.”

It’s Jensen’s turn to touch Jeff. He lays a hand on his shoulder, tips his chin up. Instead of saying anything, he kisses him, a brush of lips on lips.

They’re silent for so long that Jensen’s drifting off when Jeff says. “You see it when no one else does. Always counted on you for that.”

And the only response Jensen can make is to pull Jeff closer as he falls asleep.

* * *

  


The End

  



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